What Were They Thinking?

Another one from the “Say what now?” file…

My friend DK was in the process of enrolling her #1 daughter child in kindergarten recently.  Tons of paper work to fill out, samples requested of hair and blood (okay, just kidding), background checks to the year 1834 (yeah, kidding again…it’s only 1874), and other tomfoolery.

All this for what?  To protect the school from our litigious society?  I’m not sure…

But DK shared one of the more…ummm…intriguing (?) forms, which I have included a copy of here.  And leave it without further comment for you perusal and insight —-

Think of the children, for goodness sake...

Advertisement

That Time Of Year

### WARNING:  Guy Medical Stuff Talked About Here ###

On reaching a certain tender age (usually mid to late 40s), men finally start to personally experience invasive medical examinations.  It is, admittedly, not nearly as invasive as those our female counterparts have been enduring annually since puberty.

This being the prostate exam.

Supposed to be done annually by my doc, it involves manually probing the prostate to feel for swelling or bumps (as well as other stuff, one of which led to my first [and only, so far] colonoscopy.  Now, it just so happens that the prostate is buried a few inches up our butt.  So, obviously, to achieve the ‘hands on’ experience, the doc must insert his finger up there.

Due to an “event”*, my doc is taking a vacation from the practice.  While there is still an MD-type doc on call, the daily patient care is now done by a nurse practitioner**.  This nurse practitioner happens to be a female.

We had a brief discussion on my comfort*** with her doing the exam, especially considering this was the first I met her.  The chat included my “you be the professional health care provider, I’ll be the professional asshole” line from that first colonoscopy.

Now, I have to mention that this nurse practitioner was on the petite side.  I also note that she is a hottie, emphasized to me when she leaned over the exam table, looking back at me over her shoulder, to demonstrate how she wanted me to position myself for the exam.  Ummm…wow…

…but I digress…

Taking my position, I dropped my pants and boxers to my ankles.  As expected and is usual, there was a bit of discomfort when she started the exam.

But then I was surprised by a second, more determined assault.

And further astonished by yet a third, accompanied by her actually grunting with effort, while seeming to dig wildly.

[By this time, I’m picturing her, with a resolute look on her face, jumping up before ‘diving in’, to provide just that much more leverage and…ahem…thrust.]

Finally, after even another onslaught of a probing finger, she declared victory and directed me to pull my pants back up.

I was tempted to ask her for a cigarette…

By way of apology for what she knew was, in American football parlance, “unnecessary roughness”, she allowed as how she needed to feel the entire prostate gland.  But, with her small hands, proportional to her petite figure, and short fingers, she found it difficult to get to the far side of said gland without the added exertion.  Even with that effort , she said she still couldn’t quite get far enough up there, despite me feeling like she was making way for her to park her car or something.  But, enough so that she declared me…well, my prostate… normal.

But, despite all the ‘fun’****, it was for the good purpose of making sure I was healthy.  So, guys?  Get out there and get your prostate checked!  (especially if you can find a hot female doc or nurse practitioner!)

…and bring your cigarettes.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

*Let your mind go wild, I’m not saying…

**Though still able to prescribe medications and do just about everything an MD can do, they’re still considered “doc-lite” by some.  Or “nurse on steroids”.  Or “almost a doc”.  Me?  Don’t care, as long as they’re capable…like this one.

***Ha!  “Comfort” – – – A seeming oxymoron considering what a rectal exam is.

**** Okay, I do admit to a just a very slight bit of titillation at the whole thing in retrospect—good looking woman and all…  Kinky?  Yeah.  I can live with that.

Say What?

At work, I have a new next door neighbor.  She started out pretty quiet…sort of seeing how the office ran, who she could talk to, who she should avoid.  It got so I just thought she was the shy, quiet type.

Until today…

The New Lady:  “Well, I’m going to get a massage.  Everyone deserves a good dick massage now and then.”

The GnuKid:  [blink… blink… blink… ]

The New Lady:  “Yeah, dick is a little stooped over guy…”

The GnuKid:  “Ummm…”

The New Lady:  “He’s my massage therapist… Dick… 73-year old masseur.  What did you think I meant.”

The GnuKid:  “Uhhhh…”

The New Lady:  [giggling]

Yep, I’m going to have to keep an eye on this one…

Timely Advice

As mentioned earlier, The Boy is a good communicator with a great vocabulary. As such, I fully expected him to become a lawyer or some such. I was surprised, then, when he told me that he decided to join the Air Force. Family tradition and all, but it still surprised me.

After graduation from university, he was assigned to train to be a missile officer… yes, the fruit of MY loins—with half of my chromosomes running rampant, controlling his thought processes—was going to be one of the guys with his finger on the key of our nuclear arsenal. Scared yet? Well I am. Now are you scared? *

On arrival at his training, they (you know [mysterious music plays]…”THEY”) gave him a stack of technical manuals big enough to fill a small suitcase. No, he didn’t have to memorize them. But he did have to become familiar enough with them to be able to find any section quickly. And, being a focused student, dove into that task and started reading.

Early into his training, The Boy sent me an e-mail with an important safety tip we all should read and heed:

Per the Manual: “Do NOT use nuclear weapons to troubleshoot equipment faults”.

The Boy writes further: “In case you were considering it, you should know that it is officially forbidden. You can tell they are serious because they capitalized ‘NOT.'”

I thanked The Boy profusely for this advice and told him it was quite timely as I was *just* about to troubleshoot a broken water heater with a spare nuclear warhead I have laying about in my basement. [Whew!] That was close.

So, I pass along this information in hopes that you take that safety tip to heart the next time your toaster acts up.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||

*Okay, that was typed for the giggle effect. Yeah, I’m his Father, very biased in his favor, and proud of him. But, besides that, I feel very secure that he is the right guy—attitude, brains, and, especially, ethics—for this job.

Women’s League

I was invited to attend our good town’s Women’s League scholarship luncheon this weekend.  My theater friend, DK, a member of said league, pulled on the heartstrings with the “it’s for a good cause” invite.

I know what that the Women’s League does charitable things…this one being for a scholarship fund to help kids get to university.  But, I get caught up with that name… “Women’s League”.  Hearing that, I find myself drifting off to thoughts of female superheroes with impossible, yet luscious, body dimensions clad in skin-tight spandex costumes… of course, I immediately said, “YES!  I’ll go!!”

i'd be evil if they'd be the ones subduing me

Okay, honestly, I was expecting to feel out of place, fully anticipating I would be the only man in attendance.  To help?  A recently procured hip flask filled with 16 year old Scotch to aid in my afternoon enjoyment.  Turns out I didn’t really need it… not that that prevented me from freely imbibing.  But, I was one of only about 10 men there.

DK had reserved a table for 8 of us.  I was the only man at the table and gladly told the ladies sitting there that I was their date for the afternoon.  One of them quickly pointed out that they were my harem…ah, if only!

Several of my friends were there suggesting that this would be an excellent opportunity to scout out a date opportunity…or eleven…even though a large part of the female population there were just a tad (read: “significantly”) past retirement age.  I was counseled to freely mingle and–if I brought up such scintillating topics as sewing, gardening, and osteoporosis*?–I’d be awash in women longing to spend time with me.

After an ‘okay’ lunch**, the entertainment was a local middle school chorus.  The kids were cute and talented.  Had one cringe moment, though, when a girl with a beautiful voice sang a solo.  But, she had a lisp.  Wouldn’t have been awfully noticeable if the first line of the song wasn’t, “Sing out strong with one voice!”

The scholarship portion was a raffle for gift baskets.  I, of course, focused on those having an alcoholic theme… or food… especially chocolate.  I was lucky enough to win the “Margarita Basket”–margarita mix, salt, glasses, chips, salsa… wheee!!!  Even more cool?  Out of some 25 tables, with 8 to 10 people each, raffling for some 30 gift baskets… our table garnered 5 of the gift baskets.  This included my good friend winning the grand prize–a champagne bucket with a magnum of champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, a jazz CD, and other stuff.

The day turned out pretty nice.

Now, I’m sure after reading one of my recent posts, so closely followed by this one, some of my readers are starting to question just what the hell is going on with me…am I really turning into a woman?  Well, hell if I know…so much has been changing for me over the last 6 months, what’s one more change.  But, there is one thing I can guarantee…

If I turn into a woman, I’m definitely going to be a lesbian.

…just love being with women too much…

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

*my good friend in attendance, who at times can tend to be a bit more on the bawdy side, suggested I talk about osteoporosis and slip in the line, “Boniva?  Yeah, baby, I’ve got your Boniva right here” [pointing at my crotch].  I’m so glad she’s helping me meet women… [chuckle]

**functions like these are hit-or-miss for the food quality…ranging from “these people should open their own restaurant!” to “ugh…another ‘rubber chicken’ meal”

CI Homage 17Apr09

Otto shook his head as he took stock of all the calamities invading his life over the past few months.

It seemed to him that the world was conspiring to make him as miserable as possible.

“I need a bit of karmic relief,” grumbled Otto.

And with the impeccable timing only they can have, the Fates laughed impishly in his face.

In walked Constance.

As eloquently and succinctly as he could muster, Otto muttered a simple, “Shit.”

Womanhood

I am in the midst of struggling…yeah, that’d be a good descriptor word…struggling through a long term weight-loss goal.  Proud to say that in the past two years I’ve lost over 536 pounds!  Okay, 500 of those were the over-and-over lost pounds…lose 5 pounds, gain 9 pounds, lose 10, gain 8, etc., but still, I’m going in the right direction.

On a recent long drive, I called the Girl Child to chat.  Here’s a snippet of that conversation –

GC:  So, how is the diet going?

Me:  Not so good of late.  I feel like I’ve been foraging and scavenging way too much.  Eating all the time.  I’m blasting past my daily calorie goals.  Makes me grumpy.

GC:  Sounds as if you are PMS-ing.*

Me:  Yeah, I thought as much myself…as good an explanation as any.

GC:  Dad, I’m so proud!  You’re finally becoming a woman!

After a good chuckle between us, my mind flashed back to those old training films from the 1950s.  The ones with names like “Syphilis and You”, “Prom Night Pregnancy”, and “Mom, Why Do I Feel Funny In My Basement?”.  You know the ones…the family or girl or boy express an oversimplified problem, then cock their heads quizzically.  Then the plastic narrator man with the narrow tie… or sometimes it’s the scientist or doctor looking guy in the lab coat, who always started his lines, with, “So, you’re <insert issue or problem here>…”.  I shared this with the Girl Child, explaining this, then shared, in that plastic narrator voice—

Me:  “So, you’re finally becoming a woman.  Congratulations!  Now, there will be many changes over the next months… let’s talk about them…”

GC:  Okay, stop!  Now!  Ewww….

…well…she started it…

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

*Amazingly, this is not the first time I’ve heard this.